


Unbelievers

by deciding



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, New Year's Eve, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, riverdale holiday 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deciding/pseuds/deciding
Summary: “Are you sure about this, Betty?” Jughead asked, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.“Yes,” Betty insisted. “Are you? Because now would be a really bad time to tell me you aren’t.”--Betty thinks her next kiss should be with someone special. Jughead doesn’t think about kissing anyone.





	Unbelievers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rikyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikyl/gifts).



> This is my contribution to the Riverdale Holiday Exchange 2017. My prompt: New Year's Eve.

**_10:51 PM_ **

Down the drain the water went, a steady pressurized stream in freefall. When Betty looked up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she saw the tears had fallen down the planes of her face from her eyes to her chin. Even though she was only fourteen, she’d felt so grown up when she asked to borrow a tube of her sister Polly’s darkest, most volumizing mascara earlier that evening, and she’d looked at herself in her vanity mirror with glee once Polly finished applying it for her. In retrospect, looking at the coal-like tear streaks down her face, Betty knew what she should have asked Polly for was her best waterproof mascara.

It was New Year’s Eve and Betty had locked herself in the main floor bathroom of Midge Klump’s house for the better part of the last five minutes, fresh off her latest heartbreak. She hadn’t even needed to use the bathroom. She just locked the door behind her, sat on the floor, and willed herself not to cry which, in turn, meant the tears sprung from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks ever so gracefully. When she stood up, she turned the water on with the intention of splashing cool water on her face to calm herself down and reset. But seeing the mascara tears in the mirror, she changed her mind. It wasn’t a good idea unless she wanted raccoon eyes like she was an extra in an 80’s hair metal band music video.

Betty shut off the water and instead grabbed a handful of tissues off the counter. She wiped at her face with the soft Kleenex sheets harshly, in hopes of getting all the mascara on her cheeks off before it dried and she’d have to scrub. When she was done, she took a step back and considered her appearance as a whole. She smoothed out the wrinkles along the bodice of her periwinkle dress and adjusted the draping of her pale pink cardigan around her shoulders. The pastels of her party outfit were a contrast to her soured mood. Only her wooly black tights suited her soul. Betty took a few deep breaths and tightened her blonde ponytail.

Someone was bound to need the bathroom soon with the amount of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Korbel Brut (and Martinelli’s apple cider for the responsible crowd) flowing at the party. If she didn’t make her move quickly and get out of the bathroom, she’d be interrupted by a knock. Or, even worse, her sister—who’d been holding hands with Jason Blossom all night—might come looking for her. With a final wipe at her eyes and a nod of confidence at herself in the mirror that she could keep up her best fake happy face, Betty opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

She expected to be met by a couple of seniors making out well before the countdown clock, or a few people taking a breather from the party to take phone calls, or even a group of kids in her own grade doing Jingle Jangle. She hadn’t expected to be met by Jughead’s stormy blue eyes.

\-----

**_10:55 PM_ **

Jughead was leaned up against the wall opposite of the door, one leg crossed over the other, one hand crossed over his chest holding a crumpled coat, and the other holding his chin. He straightened up when he heard the bathroom door open and his gaze met Betty’s instantly.

“Juggie?”

“Betty,” he answered her name back to her. “Hey.”

Betty was slightly taken aback. “Were you…were you waiting for me?”

Jughead squeezed the soft felt material of the coat he carried between his fingertips and nodded. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

At his words, Betty’s expression softened. Betty amped up her fake happy. She knew she didn’t have to for Jughead, but then again, he was usually broody enough for the both of them. “Oh. I’m okay, really. But thank you for checking on me.”

The brave front didn’t fool Jughead. Ever the unbeliever, he knew Betty kept it up for maintenance, for self preservation. It was just like after she’d tried out for the River Vixens, when Cheryl Blossom had made an insensitive remark that wasn’t worth repeating. Betty had shown up to class the next day with her usual demeanor, with great suggestions for their Geography project. But Jughead had slept over at the Andrews’ house the night of the cheerleading tryouts, and Betty’s curtains had never once opened. Jughead knew she’d cried herself to sleep that night.

“Betty…” Jughead shifted his weight from side to side and spoke gently. “Archie’s an idiot.”

Betty’s face fell at the mention of their redheaded friend. Jughead winced internally. Maybe mentioning him was a bad idea. Jughead had been a witness to bright Betty Cooper’s heartbreak for the hundredth time, and for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row, it was all Archie’s fault.

The three of them had started their night in the living room. The night hadn’t started so bad. They’d been talking fondly of past New Year’s Eve celebrations. When they were eleven, they’d begun a tradition: a triple feature (each of them picked one movie) and Alice Cooper’s lasagna followed by too much popcorn and chilled apple cider. At midnight Betty would kiss both boys on the cheek and take a selfie of the three of them for her scrapbook.

They’d done that for three years in a row, but since they’d entered freshman year, Archie had suggested they go to a high school party. Both Betty and Jughead had looked at Archie like he’d asked them to commit social suicide. Betty was kind and friendly, and she had the fact that she was Polly’s little sister working for her, but after the River Vixens tryout mishap in August, she wasn’t exactly Miss Popular. And Jughead? Well, he was just the sarcastic, pretentious, loner weirdo kid that sometimes hung out with Betty and Archie.

Archie had insisted the invitation to the party at Midge’s was open to all. He’d sworn the three of them would hang out, just like the last three years. Betty, who’d already had a new dress in her closet to welcome the New Year whether or not the movie trifecta was happening, didn’t take much convincing, because she was always eager to please and leave a good impression, most of all on Archie. Jughead reluctantly agreed when he found out he couldn’t use babysitting his sister, Jellybean, as an excuse – his mom had worked on Christmas Eve so she’d gotten the night off for New Year’s Eve. Getting dragged to a party to watch Reggie and Moose engage in competitive keg stands was less crummy than what was sure to be the saddest ringing in of the New Year at the Joneses’ trailer.

After a few anecdotes reminiscing their past fun New Year’s Eves, the three musketeers laughed about how Archie always fell asleep sometime during the last movie – his own selection. That was when he’d stood up and offered to venture into the kitchen and get drinks for the group. It was twenty minutes into a discussion about the ninth grade Honors English reading list when Betty and Jughead reached the conclusion that they’d been ditched and if they wanted their sodas, they’d have to trek into the territory of the kitchen themselves. They’d decided it would sting less if they went together, so they begrudgingly gave up their seats and headed into potentially hostile territory.

As it turned out, the whips didn’t sting less and they’d chosen the exact worst moment to enter the kitchen. A game of suck-and-blow—using a card from a stack of Cards Against Humanity, no less—had broken out in the kitchen. Archie was in between Cheryl Blossom and Ginger Lopez. He got the card successfully from Cheryl but let it drop (also successfully) when Ginger leaned into him. Ginger was his latest crush and when the card fell, he kissed her anyway, his hands moving to her waist and the game participants whooping and cheering behind them.

Betty’s heart had broken, seeing another girl get the moment she wanted with Archie well before midnight. Even Jughead had felt Betty’s heartbreak from his observer’s point of view. In the kitchen, no one even noticed the tears that had brimmed Betty’s eyes as she fled the scene for the bathroom, not even her sister. Only Jughead followed after her.

Seeing Archie and Ginger together had been a swift punch to the gut – a nightruiner. Betty had no choice but to roll with the punches though. She’d already cried in the bathroom.

“You don’t have to call Archie names for me,” Betty said to Jughead, regarding his choice word for their other friend. “I know he’s your best friend.”

Jughead was still a friendly face to her, still a musketeer. Two was better than one. Betty appreciated his intent to make her feel better, but she knew how important the Andrews family was in Jughead’s life, and she didn’t need him to feel like he should make any remarks about any of them for her benefit.

With a snort, Jughead answered, “He’s an idiot anyway, Betts. Somehow it’s part of what makes him so endearing. And besides, you’re my best friend, too.”

The way Jughead smiled at her, small and soft, with tenderness in his eyes, made Betty grab onto the sleeve of his Sherpa jacket. “Thanks, Juggie. That’s really—hey—” Betty stopped herself mid-sentence and started again when she noticed what he was holding, “Is that my coat?”

“Yeah,” Jughead confirmed. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“What?” Betty gave him a quizzical look. “Jug, it’s nearly 11 o’clock on New Year’s Eve and we live in Riverdale. Nothing is open.”

“Pop’s is open,” he offered.

“ _Pop’s_?” Betty almost laughed. “You want to go to Pop’s right now? That’s where you want to be when midnight strikes?”

“At least there are burgers and milkshakes at Pop’s,” Jughead said with a shrug. He cocked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “We can’t even get a soda in this joint without running into trouble.”

The laugh Betty had held in escaped her. She smiled at Jughead who looked at her so earnestly. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“C’mon, it will take us less than ten minutes to walk there from here,” Jughead insisted and held Betty’s coat out to her. “Doesn’t an old fashioned vanilla milkshake sound great right now?”

“Yeah,” she said as Jughead helped her into her coat. Betty untucked her ponytail from the collar. Jughead had never even taken off his jacket or messenger bag when they’d gotten to the party. And everyone knew that the boy never took off his gray beanie. Once Betty’s coat was buttoned up and she slipped on her mittens, they were ready to move. Instinctively, she linked arms with Jughead, an action so familiar from over the years. “Okay.”

\-----

**_11:07 PM_ **

Walking through the snow arm in arm, huddled close together to share their combined body heat, Betty and Jughead were lost in their own thoughts for most of the walk to the diner. The best part about being around a trusted friend was knowing them well enough for the silences to be comfortable.

Betty couldn’t help but think about Archie, who she was sure she loved and was in love with—two very different acts of love. All their lives they’d been neighbors and best friends. In the second grade, she’d tutored him so he wouldn’t be held back a grade, and as a thank you, he’d kissed her and asked her to marry him. It had been a sloppy, gross kiss, and the proposal was turned down—with the option for future consideration.

By the end of seventh grade, Betty realized what a mistake turning down the proposal was because by then Archie had her full attention. Like Jughead had said, she’d grown up to love everything about Archie, even his clueless nature. It was always cute. She thought he’d snap out of it and clue in, especially after they went to a 50’s-themed dance at the local VFW Hall together and they’d kissed at the end of the night: one quick, awkward, shy peck before she scurried inside the Cooper residence.

But as it turned out, Archie was still as clueless as ever. That was the night things changed between them, when he started breaking her heart over and over by not cluing in on her feelings. When they walked to school together the following Monday, Archie didn’t even acknowledge the kiss. In fact, he never said anything about it ever again. He’d talked about an e-vite to Tina Patel’s birthday, one that Betty did not receive.

Betty’s history with boys after her second kiss with Archie was scarce. She went on a date with Trev Brown, who’d held her hand and stared into her eyes of jade and and made her laugh, but was so nervous when he kissed her that it was mostly his braces pressed up against her upper lip. Betty was the star of the Riverdale High Welcome Committee when Adam Chisholm moved to town just a month ago, and he’d been instantly smitten with her, something she wasn’t used to. They went on a few dates and she’d even had her first makeout session in the back row of The Bijou with him, but she broke up with him a week later when she felt a void, not completely enamored with him. Adam was great, and she had his undivided attention—which was new for 14-year-old Betty who’d wanted Archie’s attention for so long—but something was…missing.

There was something not there that kept her from linking her loop of the chain to Adam’s. Because the thing was, Betty had always been a dreamer. It was the reason she felt so deeply, the reason she put her heart on the line, the reason she was holding out for something or someone that would _move her_. She was unwilling to accept that love or a kiss couldn’t be like it was in a movie or a book. Because if it couldn’t be like that, what was the point of depicting it that way? And didn’t the people who wrote like that do so because they believed in that kind of love, in that kind of groundbreaking kiss?

After breaking up with Adam, Betty was sure she would know right away if she had something special with someone like “The Shoop Shoop Song” talked about because of one thing: _it’s in his kiss._

Betty wanted to spark a flame. She wanted time to slow down. She wanted to see the stars of far off galaxies behind her closed eyes. She wanted to be surprised and swept off her feet. She wanted to know what it meant to swoon.

Her fantasy was some sort of fractured fairy tale, because it dawned on her she might have to kiss a lot of frogs to find the prince. She’d never really seen herself as the kind of girl who would serially date in high school. And therein lay the problem, because she thought it would be her next kiss with Archie that would seal the deal, that it would be so magical he would feel it, too – but Archie seemed intent on serially dating half of the girls in the freshman class at Riverdale High, plus a quarter of the sophomores.

Going to Midge’s party increased Betty’s chances of kissing that special boy at midnight. Going to Midge’s party with her fellow musketeers, when Archie promised he wouldn’t ditch her and Jughead? That put the odds in her favor that it _would_ be Archie at midnight. Although they’d kissed twice before, it had been so quick and she hadn’t known then what she was looking for. But for their next kiss, she was sure she’d be ready.

Funny how she’d prepared herself for the next step with Archie, yet she never prepared for each time he unknowingly hurt her again.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Betty mumbled and berated herself as she trudged through an undisturbed pile of snow, leaving fresh boot tracks in her wake.

“Hey,” Jughead interrupted her thoughts when he came to a halt, “don’t do that.”

“I feel stupid, Juggie,” she said with resignation. “I’m an idiot.”

“No way.” Jughead withdrew his arm from hers and moved so they were face to face. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You are the smartest person I know, Betty Cooper.”

Betty sighed once and sent a thankful smile her cynical best friend’s way. That was high praise coming from him. Jughead was always quick to criticize and shun the people he didn’t like (which was pretty much everyone but Archie and Betty, and his sister). But when it came to his friends, he was a big softie. A total marshmallow. When Jughead was serious, not using his sardonic humor to relate to the world, he only said what he meant.

“Jug?” Betty spoke his name as a question.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for sticking with me,” Betty told him gratefully. “Thanks for getting me out of that party.”

“Believe me, Betty, my reasons are partly selfish. I never wanted to be in the middle of a Seth Rogen movie that just happened to be set on New Year’s Eve,” Jughead said dismissively as they began walking again. “I only went because I didn’t want to be at home.”

Unlike Betty, Jughead didn’t think about kissing anyone, not on New Year’s Eve or any night. Well, maybe he’d thought about it. But he wasn’t concerned about it. His parents still kissed each other when they weren’t yelling at each other. Sometimes they even kissed each other (and then a little more) in order to stop yelling at each other. But it didn’t solve anything. Their problems couldn’t be solved by small spurts of affection followed by the resurfacing of their deep-seeded anger.

So Jughead was more concerned about how much bigger the cracks in his family’s foundation could get until they splintered completely. New Year’s Eve was a terrible celebratory tradition for alcoholics, and his father was an alcoholic without a resolution.

Every day Gladys talked about FP’s madness and self-abuse because of the alcohol, about how he was always in his own way, and about how she was sick of dealing with it. Every day she talked about leaving. And Jughead thought that she would be right to take off before she was consumed, if she really felt like that was what she needed to do. He was scared to know if she really had a plan to make that happen and even more scared to know if he would even be part of the plan. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel either way, if his mom wanted to take him with her and Jellybean, or leave him behind to deal with his father alone.

“Maybe I should be more like you,” Betty said to her raven-haired friend as they reached the curve of the train tracks, where the separation of the north and south side of town began. “I shouldn’t believe in anything.”

The glow of the Chock’lit Shoppe’s neon sign was in sight, casting a red-orange glow over the parking lot. Jughead uncurled a hand from inside the lining of his jacket pocket and pointed it accusingly at Betty.

“Now that’s just not true, Cooper,” he scolded Betty. “I believe in the rockabilly music on the jukebox. I believe in the ability of a cheeseburger to ease my troubles away.”

\-----

**_11:15 PM_ **

Pop Tate looked up from his post immediately when the bell over the door chimed. On top of the front bar counter was an old cathode ray tube portable TV with a built-in antenna. He’d even covered the antenna in aluminum foil for better signal pick up. It was tuned to the New Year’s celebration in Times Square, where the ball would drop at midnight.

“Kids!” he exclaimed, surprised, looking back and forth between Betty and Jughead. “What brings you in here? Didn’t expect to see you in here on a night like tonight…at least not the both of you.”

Jughead rolled his eyes. “Real subtle, Pop.”

He was Pop Tate’s best customer—his picture was even on the wall. Pop called him ‘The Nighthawk’ because he often came in to sit at a booth and write once the sun was down, bottomless refills of coffee generously poured by Pop Tate. Pop always expected Jughead, rain or shine, festive holiday or dreary school day. Sometimes Pop already had his mug of coffee waiting on the bar counter to be picked up right along Jughead’s path to a booth.

“Well, kids,” Pop Tate gestured around the nearly empty diner. “Anywhere you like. I’ll bring over your usual drinks and get the grill started.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Betty beamed with genuine appreciation, clasping her still mitten-clad hands together over her heart.

Jughead had already settled into a booth on the window side of the diner, halfway between the entrance and the jukebox. He removed his messenger bag from its crossbody position over his shoulder and flipped up the front flap. As Betty sat down on the other side of the booth and removed her scarf, Jughead took out his laptop and gingerly placed it on the Formica tabletop before unfolding it so the screen was up.

“Wow,” Betty said, an elbow propped up and her hand settled under her chin as soon as she’d shed her mittens. “Looks like you were on Santa’s ‘nice’ list this year, Juggie.”

“You’ve had this same computer for two years already,” Jughead pointed out as he entered his password on the login screen. “It’s refurbished. Best the Jones family budget could do. _Ho merry ho_.”

In typical self-deprecating fashion, Jughead poked fun at his Christmas gift (that was still way too expensive even if it was technically pre-loved) that had made his eyes light up when he unwrapped it six days ago. The truth was that he loved his new-old laptop, and since receiving it he’d already created several documents—research details, plot summaries, scene summaries, critical dialogue, and ideas that hit him at random—all for the novel he would soon begin writing.

“It’s great, Jug.” Betty ignored his negativity. The Joneses had moved into Sunnyside Trailer Park just a little over six months ago, and she was so happy for her friend that he could still be awed by what had been waiting under the tacky plastic tree for him. “But did you really convince me to come to Pop’s on New Year’s Eve only to get grub and ignore me, watching cat videos? Am I that boring? I thought we were going to hang out?”

Jughead chuckled. “I’m not watching a cat video. I just want to write something down.”

Having everything appear on screen when and where he wanted it was favorable over his previous method of jotting down his often very stream of consciousness ideas in a spiral-bound notebook. Jughead could type must faster than he could freehand—a method that sometimes saw him forget a good idea before he could get it on the page verbatim to how it had formed in his mind.

“Fine,” Betty muttered pointedly. She was a writer, too—though she preferred hard facts and evidence over creating a fictional realm—so she knew what it was like to have to write something down before the inspiration left, even if it left present company to wait.

Betty glanced outside to the empty parking lot, then watched Jughead’s face as he clicked around and typed away. His face was illuminated by the LCD display of his computer, blue eyes looking almost gray, with a curl of hair poking out from under the front of his beanie, sideswept as if to frame his high cheekbones. He was in his element, jaw relaxed and no tension above his eyebrows. Betty couldn’t help but think that if Pop had already brought their drinks by, if Jughead had his cup of black coffee filled to the brim, he’d look just like a regular New Yorker. Maybe even a Williamsburg hipster, given his denim Sherpa jacket and plaid flannel, and his beanie, of course.

The thought of Jughead sipping his coffee in Brooklyn drew Betty’s attention to the lower half of Jughead’s face; his sharp jaw and pointed nose, and the scattered moles on both sides of his cheeks. Betty’s gaze flickered down to Jughead’s lips for a split second, then back up to his eyes, which were still fixed on his computer screen. When he didn’t flinch or acknowledge her stare, she let the movement of her eyes fall back down to his mouth.

Jughead’s lips were ever so slightly pursed, which brought out tiny little indentations at the corners of his mouth. Most people with dimples had them in their cheeks, but Jughead had them around his mouth, like the universe or some other higher power had blessed him to highlight that he was happiest when he consumed food. It was the first time Betty had ever taken an intent look at Jughead’s lips because, well, it was Jughead. She thought his lips were nicely shaped, albeit a little pale and slightly chapped. In her big dreams of her life-changing kiss, she had, of course, always imagined the boy would have nice lips and—

Oh, no. No no no.

The party was behind her. She’d cried in the bathroom because of Archie, because he definitely wouldn’t be her midnight kiss. She’d gotten so upset that she left the party, decided to forego not just the seeking of her magical kiss, but a midnight kiss altogether—which still could’ve been nice even if it wasn’t with Archie. But Jughead was her best friend. He got her out of a bad situation. She couldn’t think about how nice his lips were and how that related to a farfetched dream.

What did it matter anyway? _It was Jughead._

Betty was pulled from her thoughts when Pop Tate arrived with their drinks, a vanilla milkshake for her and a steaming cup of coffee for Jughead.

“So kids, what’ll it be?” Pop asked them both as he withdrew his pen and notepad from his apron.

Jughead deferred selection to Betty with a nod as he made a few more keystrokes.

“Just some fries for me, Pop,” Betty answered with a polite smile.

“And for you, Nighthawk? The usual?” Pop said knowingly to Jughead.

“You should just name the meal after me, Pop,” Jughead suggested to the older man. “A double cheeseburger with onion rings on the side: The Jughead Jones Special.”

Pop Tate’s laughter filled the room and warmed the soul. “I’ve already got your picture up on the wall, Juggie.” He pointed his pen in the direction of the glossy 5”x 7” of Jughead (with a cheeseburger in hand) pinned above the frame of one of the booth window sills. With a tap of the pen against his notepad, Pop added, “Can’t have the drop-ins thinking I practice favoritism, true or not.”

Despite himself, Jughead flashed a grin, his first genuinely happy smile of the night. “You are the man, Pop.”

“Orders are coming right up, kids,” Pop Tate promised. “Might take a few extra minutes though. I’m cooking, I’m bussing – I’m doing it all. I let my staff have the night off. Like I said, wasn’t expecting the company save for a few drifters.”

“It’s no problem, Pop,” Betty chimed in. “Besides…we’ve got all year.”

Pop Tate gave her an extra wink for the extra cheesy line as he walked away.

“Okay,” Jughead said as he saved his latest document and snapped his laptop shut. “I’m fully present. I’m hanging out.”

“Finally,” Betty answered with an exasperated sigh before taking a long sip of her milkshake.

“So, hey,” Jughead lept right into a topic, “I might have negotiated a part-time job for myself starting this spring, once the snow melts, if Josie’s mom gets elected as mayor.”

“Oh, really?”

As Jughead launched into a discussion about the Twilight Drive-In, he picked up his coffee cup. Betty could hardly concentrate on what he said about the projection booth and film reels. When he took his first sip, Betty’s eyes were transfixed on the curve of his upper lip.

\-----

**_11:45 PM_ **

“She’s the coolest nine-year-old I know. Last week, she asked our mom if she could get a copy of _The Dark Side of the Moon_ for her next birthday,” Jughead spoke fondly of his sister. “Jellybean might have even more sass than me.”

“That’s awesome, Jug,” Betty responded half-heartedly, only half-aware of what he’d just said.

“Okay, seriously.” Jughead took a napkin and hovered it near his chin. “Do I have something on my face?”

“What?” Betty met his gaze. “No.”

“You keep looking at me funny,” Jughead accused.

Betty protested, “I do not.”

Jughead nodded with confidence and swiped at his mouth anyway, for good measure, finding no mustard or ketchup residue. “You do.”

Betty’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “Sorry.”

“Betty, what is it?” Jughead asked with concern in his voice.

She shook her head emphatically before she responded, “You’ll say it’s stupid. Or even if you don’t say it, you’ll just quietly think it, and then I’ll know you’re thinking it.”

“I promise not to pass judgement,” Jughead told her sincerely.

Under the table, Betty attempted to release the tension in her hands by squeezing her knees. “Okay, but you can’t laugh. And you cannot make fun of me. You swear?”

Jughead put down his food to emphasize that he was all ears and an open mind. “I know it’s not usually in my nature, but because it’s the holidays, _I swear_. I swear I’ll be every bit the good boy that got me a refurbished laptop.”

Usually Betty would have kept her feelings to herself and let them swallow her whole once she was alone in the solace of her room. But since their food had arrived, she’d been completely distracted, watching Jughead’s mouth as he devoured his cheeseburger rather than listening to his story about his sister.

Objectively, Jughead wasn’t bad looking. Betty had already established in her mind how nice his lips were. And, okay, so there wasn’t anything sexy about the way he ate…but surely someone who ate as much as he did and spoke with such a sharp tongue knew what he was doing with his mouth, right? So she’d go into the New Year without the big moment kiss she’d been waiting for. Fine. There was always next year. Still, she couldn’t help but think she’d be no better or worse off kissing Jughead over any of the other boys back at the party they’d left behind.

“It’s just…I’m glad we left the party, really, I am,” Betty began, “but at the same time I’m a little disappointed because I wanted to kiss someone at midnight. I mean, I still do.”

On a leap of faith, Betty cocked her head to the side and cocked her eyebrow at Jughead slightly. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she waited for the realization to hit him.

A few seconds passed and Jughead looked back at Betty with wide eyes full of disbelief. He sputtered his reply, “What…wait, me? Do you mean me? You want _me_ to be your midnight kiss?”

“Jeez, keep it down will you?” Betty winced and nearly faceplanted on the table. “And… _ouch_ , Jug. You don’t have to sound so disgusted by me.”

Despite Jughead’s outburst and Betty’s shushes, Pop Tate didn’t even flinch. He still sat on his barstool at the front counter and passively watched Demi Lovato perform a medley of her hit songs in Times Square.

“Betty,” Jughead scrunched up his face, “you don’t find _me_ disgusting?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Betty huffed and crossed and her arms over her chest. “Why would I hang out with you if I think you’re gross?”

“I don’t know,” Jughead said honestly. “Probably because you’re the last truly good person in this town?”

“Juggie,” Betty affectionately used the name she’d been calling him since he let her into his tree house despite the _No Girls Allowed_ sign Archie had put up on the swinging door. “We’re _friends_.”

“Okay,” Jughead answered once he blew out a breath. “Then isn’t that a problem?”

As she uncrossed her arms and dipped her last remaining fries in ketchup, Betty giggled at Jughead’s shock and awe – making such a big deal over something that would likely last a few seconds and never be thought of again. “I’m not proposing marriage or anything like that, Jones. I’m not even asking you to the Sadie Hawkins Dance. It’s just…New Year’s tradition.”

\-----

**_11:50 PM_ **

Jughead squirmed in his seat. He’d promised he wouldn’t judge Betty and he’d promised he wouldn’t make fun of her. He hadn’t known lip service—in the literal sense—would be involved. And he wasn’t one for tradition. Once upon a time he’d lived in a house with a backyard and a tree house, and his mom managed to get three meals on the table every day, even if there were two days in a row of boxed macaroni and cheese, and leftovers of rubbery rotisserie chicken from the grocery store she worked at, when they didn’t sell. Although it hadn’t been a traditional upbringing, they’d gotten by.

But the cold world got harsher, and there was no more tree house hideaway. There was the trailer and gathering clothes up in garbage bags to do laundry using quarters. There was storytelling for his little sister until she fell asleep at night, so she wouldn’t have to listen to their parents fighting through the thin walls. There were nights when his dad didn’t come home at all.

Jughead had no pride in tradition, especially not the Betty Cooper kind. He’d been at the Cooper house for the last three New Year’s celebrations. He’d had the popcorn slathered in butter and cheese from Wisconsin. He’d sat with the crocheted blanket over his knees as the film credits rolled, and then he and Betty would start drawing objects on Archie’s face with Polly’s easy-glide eyeliner. He’d gotten the little kisses on the cheek from Betty and the sweet hugs she put all her weight behind because she put her heart into everything she did, even little things such as those. He accepted but he didn’t exactly reciprocate. He was Jughead Jones. He didn’t do traditions.

So kissing Betty at midnight? That should have been out of the question entirely. But still, he’d promised he wouldn’t give her his usual reaction. And it was so hard to say no to her when she turned those hopeful doe eyes on him. There was no denying, either, that Jughead liked being the one to make Betty smile.

“Betty,” he gulped down some more coffee and kept his voice low, “I’ve never kissed anyone before. Not really.”

“You kissed Ethel last year,” Betty disagreed.

“ _She_ kissed _me_!” he exclaimed and shut his eyes in horror as the memory came back.

It had been the last week of school in eighth grade, and after crushing on him all year, one afternoon after another game of dodgeball in PE (when Jughead had managed to only be hit by Reggie once), without warning, Ethel Muggs had laid one big smooch on him. Afterward, she’d yelled out for him to have a good summer as she ran into the girls’ locker room. She still had trouble meeting his gaze when they got paired together for peer review or group assignments.

“She told everyone it was the best day of her life,” Betty said bluntly.

Jughead’s cheeks blushed pink and he held back a groan of malcontent. There was nothing wrong with Ethel, he just wasn’t interested.

He always thought when Cupid struck him—if Cupid came for him at all—it would be for someone like…well, someone like Betty. The girl (or boy) would have to be like Betty, because Betty wasn’t just the only girl he liked hanging out with—she was one of the only people he liked hanging out with. Period.

And suddenly it wasn’t just a girl or boy _like_ Betty asking him to participate in an absurd tradition hosted by Ryan Seacrest. It _was_ Betty.

“I…” Jughead trailed off. “I have onion breath.”

Betty held up her index finger as a signal for him to hold on. She rummaged through her purse for a moment and mumbled under her breath to herself.

“Aha!” she pulled out a small metal tin container and deposited it on the table between them. “I have Altoids.”

“Oh, well, hot damn,” Jughead swore and clapped one of his palms against the surface. “I mean, if you have Altoids, it’s settled then.”

The entire expression on Betty’s face downturned at his reaction. “You said you weren’t going to make fun of me.”

Jughead gulped. Well, shit. He hadn’t even meant to do that in a ridiculing way. He was just out of excuses.

“Just remember this was your idea,” Jughead said as he flipped open the tin lid. To be on the safe side, he popped two mints in his mouth. “So if this goes badly, I’m blaming you.”

The grin that Betty flashed him went all the way up to her eyes, then she was bright Betty Cooper again. She reached to the middle of the table and got a mint for herself, too.

\-----

**_11:55 PM_ **

“We should go outside,” Betty suggested as she looked out the window again.

Jughead pulled the sleeve of his flannel toward his elbow, to check the Naruto watch Jellybean had given him for his last birthday (Jellybean was only eight at the time, which meant it was included in a Hot Topic _Buy One Get One 50% Off_ sale at the mall in Greendale, and their mom had reluctantly agreed). “Why? There are five minutes left. It’s freezing out there.”

“Juggie, we can’t…” Betty leaned in closer to him across the table and spoke barely above a whisper. “We can’t kiss in here.”

Jughead looked around the diner. There was Mr. Svenson, the school janitor, tucked in a corner, reading the newspaper over grits and sausage links. On the other side were a man and woman in two familiar leather jackets with snake patches on their backs. FP had the same branding on his, the Southside Serpents, but the emblem was a different double-headed snake Jughead dared not tell his friends about.

“Pop would probably egg us on,” he shrugged. “He might even say it’s _cute_.”

Betty narrowed her eyes at him, already sliding out of her side of the booth. It was so easy for Jughead to tease her.

“Our lips will be blue. It’ll be like the Smurfs.” Jughead snickered at his own humor and stood up.

“And which Smurf are you, Juggie?” Betty threw back in good nature. “Grouchy or Gutsy?”

Jughead only shook his head in response as he began walking toward the door, his boots echoing high and lonesome against the industrial tile of the diner floor. Betty followed closely behind him.

Pop Tate looked up from the grainy picture on his screen as they neared.

“Hey, Pop,” Jughead greeted. “We’re just going to step outside for the countdown. Maybe we can get another round of fries?”

“Sure, Jughead.” Pop Tate gave his best customer a single nod.

Betty uttered another ‘thanks’ in Pop’s direction just as the bell over the door chimed, Jughead holding the door open for her until she’d stepped through the threshold and back out into the last night of the year.

They both trudged down the steps of the landing, then Jughead turned back to Betty and shrugged. “Around back?”

“Maybe just halfway,” she said pensively. “We don’t want to be next to the dumpster.”

Betty took a few quick strides so she was shoulder to shoulder with Jughead and they walked beside each other. They rounded the corner to the side of the building next to the line of trees where the pavement was unshoveled and they slowed as the snow crushed and packed under their boots. There was only one window on the side of the building and it took up most of the width from end to end, so Betty and Jughead had to stand right at the corner where the back and side met if the intent was for no one inside to see them.

“This okay with you?” Jughead gestured around them. When the glow of the neon red light that framed the window hit Jughead’s raven hair sticking out from his beanie, the curl that framed his face looked almost violet.

Betty nodded as she pulled her phone from her coat pocket. “Let me pull up a livestream of something so we know what time it is.”

“You can do that?”

“The cable company has this app,” she explained. “If you’re a subscriber and you’re logged in, you can stream live TV even if you’re not home.”

Jughead’s family had never had cable, not even when they’d lived in the house with the tree house in the backyard. It was growing up a Jones that had made him such an unbeliever that good things would come his way. He never let the taste of defeat wander too far from his mind. But alone at night, sometimes he imagined that when he grew up, he’d be a reclusive author, and if he did have cable, between the reruns of classic movies and his shelves full of books, he was pretty sure he’d never even have to leave the house.

After a few seconds of buffered, pixelated video, the picture cleared up until it was seamless and Ryan Seacrest, in his expensive suit, showed up on Betty’s phone, a countdown clock ticking down on the corner of the screen, below the logo of the TV network. Betty turned up the volume, then used the edge where the stucco met the window to prop up her phone at a diagonal angle.

“Wow,” Jughead snorted. “Pop needs that. The feed he’s getting over the airwaves looks like he’s trying to watch through a toaster oven.”

“Nah,” Betty mused with the shake of her head. “Pop is old school. I think it’s nice.”

\-----

**_11:58 PM_ **

Each time the pair exhaled, the remnants of their breathing was visible in the air between them before it disappeared, just like smoke. Betty opted to go without her mittens for the countdown but they both had their hands shoved in their pockets to keep warm. Betty guessed that Jughead was about half a foot taller than her. She’d have to lean upward, maybe touch his face or his neck. Always considerate, she figured he would appreciate it if her fingers didn’t feel like icicles when she did so.

As if on cue, Jughead complained, “Betty, it’s cold.”

She had to remove her hands from the lining of her coat pockets to hold her arms out to him. “C’mere.”

“Huh?” Jughead scowled.

“Less than two minutes left, Juggie,” Betty told her best friend. “We’ll hug until it’s time.”

When they embraced, Jughead’s chin fit nicely against her, rested on her shoulder. He could smell her shampoo and her perfume. He breathed in and warmth filled his senses all the way down to his toes.

\-----

**_11:59 PM_ **

“Are you sure about this, Betty?” Jughead asked, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.

“ _Yes_ ,” Betty insisted. “Are you? Because now would be a really bad time to tell me you aren’t.”

Jughead smiled to himself because Betty couldn’t see his face from her position in the hug. Betty was always so determined to get what she wanted. The last fifteen minutes of the year had been spent coordinating a midnight kiss that was due in less than 30 seconds. Jughead was about to share a kiss with Betty Cooper, the best girl he knew, and probably even the best person he knew. If she wanted to believe in traditions and carry them out, who was he to deny her?

As the countdown from ten began, from the speaker and screen of Betty’s cell phone, Jughead pulled back from the hug but kept his arms around Betty’s waist.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking in her darkened green eyes. “I’m sure.”

\-----

**_12:00 AM_ **

When the clock struck midnight and the ball began its descent in Times Square, behind closed eyes, Betty and Jughead met in the middle, their lips brushed up against each other.

They hadn’t discussed if it would be a quick peck, or drawn out and lazy, or a few subsequent kisses with pursed lips. But when Betty felt time slow down and an uncoiling in her stomach, she reached out and grabbed the nape of Jughead’s neck so that their lips were locked together. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and she saw past the milky way into a far off galaxy, billions of stars light years away twinkling just for her.

Jughead had let Betty take the lead to start, figuring that she had more experience in the kissing department. But when her fingers met his neck, effectively deepening the kiss, he swore he knew exactly what to do. Their lips moved against each other and in sync, soft and smooth like they belonged together.

Time went from slowed down to completely still. Betty didn’t hear the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” amplified through her phone’s speaker or the explosions of illegal fireworks across the train tracks on the south side of town. She heard the whooshing of her blood pulsing in her ears, and then the thump of her heart beat, and then she swore she heard Jughead’s, too. She never fully understood what it would feel like until she was in the middle of it: she was swooning, just like she wanted, a fire ignited inside of her.

When the kiss ended, the pair kept their foreheads close together, swept away and breathless. Betty opened her eyes and Jughead granted her the same kind of smile he’d sent her way when he’d waited for her outside the bathroom at the party, after her tears had been shed.

 _Oh_ , she thought. She had the feeling in her gut, in her heart, in her head—the one she’d imagined she’d feel when she kissed the right guy. And the real thing felt so much better than imagination.

Betty looked past Jughead’s facial features and focused in on the jagged points of his beanie. She reached up and ran her fingers along the tips of the perfectly crafted triangles that made up the edges.

“Oh,” she said the word out loud with her New Year’s clarity.

 _Oh_ , she should have known.

Jughead was the prince she’d been waiting for to sweep her off her feet. He’d been wearing a crown all along.

\-----

**_12:01 AM_ **

“Betty…” Jughead whispered, so serious. “I think our food is getting cold.”

A laugh escaped Betty’s throat and she pushed him up against the building, his back hitting it with a thud. He looked surprised but he didn’t protest. Though his stomach growled for his half-eaten cheeseburger, the new fluttering he felt there was a sensation he couldn’t ignore. He was in so much trouble.

“Shut up, Juggie,” Betty commanded him just before she leaned up and in, and their lips met again.

She had to be sure. She wanted to know their kiss at midnight on the dot hadn’t been a fluke. She needed to be sure that the groundbreaking nature of kissing Jughead would still feel the same, that it would still move her.

\-----

**_12:02 AM_ **

It did.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, [Story Notes](http://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/168844920915/unbelievers-extended-story-notes) are on my [tumblr](http://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Happy Holidays! Feedback is always appreciated. <3


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